


Spanish Blackbird

by Splotcher



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: BarbaWhump!, Earnest!Sonny, Fearful!Barba, Humor, M/M, Slow Burn, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-09-06 08:53:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8743405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splotcher/pseuds/Splotcher
Summary: Rafael Barba has a few extra secrets in his deeply private life. Unluckily enough, between work, death threats, and cases, Sonny Carisi crashes right into one.
This work is a series of interconnected drabbles that are chronologically written.





	1. Sunburst

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all!
> 
> It has been awhile since I posted to any fandom, but while I try to rewrite for some of my Grimm series, I find myself struck with a bit of inspiration for this fandom. My knowledge of SVU is, sadly, a bit fractured as the series never seems to air chronologically when I get to site down and watch it, but I hope to have captured enough of the characters to not be too Out of Character. Also, I noticed a lack of Rafael Barba with wings, which seems odd. I'm happy to rectify it though.
> 
> In any case, SVU is not mine, I hope you enjoy this fic that is the first chapter in a series (not sure if it should be a five times or not, but we will see), and while constructive criticism is very much appreciated, flames will be used to fuel my burning passion and encourage more writing in the same vein as the firestarter's objections.
> 
> Thank you for taking the time to rad, and I hope it gives you some enjoyment.
> 
> \--Splotch

The case was over, thank god. It was a disaster from start to finish, barely snatched from the jaws of defeat by that last-ditch, hail-Mary play (Thank you, Detective Carisi, for your unorthodox and quite frankly creative if not entirely useful views on the new law statutes of Email privacy-it was just the slightly jarred door he needed to seize upon an attack he hadn’t yet entertained). That with a subtle but sharp dig at the defendant’s work performance had everything spilling out in the courtroom in a display that had actually surprised the both of them. Apparently, the Defendant had just been waiting for the right push.

He trudges to the door of his apartment, resisting the urge to scratch at that section of skin below the back of his neck, lets himself in. He locks the door securely behind him, puts the briefcase away. There will be no more work tonight. This was a win, and he has more pressing issues to deal with. 

He carefully checks all the windows, making sure they remain locked, drawing the curtains closed. He then moves to the bedroom, carefully removing his clothes and hanging them up, preparing them for a trip to the dry cleaner. He sighs in relief to the empty rooms as the clothes finally fall from his shoulders. 

He frowned at the suit while he changed into a pair of well-worn sweatpants, forgoing the shirt. Perhaps he should just get rid of the suit. He’d always know that somebody had spat on it. The defendant had treated him to a generous donation of body fluid while on the stand. Olivia had triumphantly run off with a sample in the hastily called recess (the defense was a nervous sort), and Carisi had kindly helped him clean the rest of the spittle off while they waited for the Defendant to return.

That Bastard. That was a good suit. Maybe Olivia would get some more charges to nail him to the wall.

He carefully walks through his apartment again, goes through the motions of preparing something to eat that he has no intent of eating because dammit, his shoulders are driving him mad. But he has to do this, because there is always a half hour after he gets home that one neighbor in particular attempts to intrude on his free time. Luckily he’s trained his other neighbors with acerbic comments and sniping, effectively driving them to anywhere else but his doorstep. The old woman across the hall didn’t catch the hint, and called him ‘a character’, which horrified him to no end. Thankfully, when she did decide to intrude on his privacy, it was usually right after he got home, and she seemed cognizant enough to notice when he couldn’t bear the company. 

Still, he would have to wait. 

The food was cooked, ignored, eventually bundled into the fridge. He hardly remembered what it was. 

An hour finally passed, and that maddening itch that has been in the back of his mind and on his shoulders all day is finally too much to tolerate. He checks the locks on the doors and windows one more time.

Everything was locked. He was safe, it was alright to let it happen. He closes his eyes, brings down those carefully constructing walls, and the itching in his shoulders turn to burning and the pressure builds until he grits his teeth in pain and then the pressure is gone, replaced by a brief, alien feeling of moving fast while standing still. 

He stays still for a minute, experience teaching him that trying to move before his body adjusts to the new weight on his back usually ends with an embarrassing face plant. 

Rolling his shoulders, he is irrationally pleased at the feel of his muscles pulling in old, but alien ways as the new muscles connecting beyond the usual human anatomy flexed, unused and stiff

It has been so very long since he allowed himself this. 

Carefully stepping forward, relearning his balance after a few more steps, he stretches his arms above his head, arches the muscles on his back, feeling the appendages brush up against the end table next to the wall behind him as they span the length of the room. He’s careful not to bring them down hard, instead moving them in slow, deliberate movements. When he’s done, and the muscles aren’t screaming with disuse, he lets them sit low and peers at them over his shoulder.

The black feathers are dull, desperately in need of care. No wonder he itched so badly. He didn’t want to crane his head back farther to see that sunburst of color just past his shoulder blades, He knew they’d be in a state, too long neglected.

He began fussing with them, raking his fingers through them, combing away dust and attempting to straighten the feathers.

He’s going to need water. They’re dirtier than expected, and-

A loud knock on his door startles him, one wing twitching hard in surprise, knocking over a lamp in the process.

“…Counselor?!”

He sighs in relief when he recognizes the voice as Carisi, then panics when he realizes that Carisi is outside of the door and is pounding on the door with renewed vigor.

There isn’t enough time to tuck away the wings. But he needs to send Carisi away before the man began to suspect that he really didn’t want him around and-

And apparently, he spent too much time thinking as the door slammed open and the NYPD’s finest came barreling through it. Carisi manages to make it into the apartment, gun drawn, then manages to almost fall over, open mouthed as he takes in the extra appendages on Barba’s back. The door he has slammed open follows the law of physics, banging on the wall and rebounding, slamming closed and thankfully ending with a click, leaving the both of them staring at each other.

It is deathly silent until his neighbor makes some rude observation across the hall (he didn’t think good Christian women knew that language, but he isn’t overly surprised). 

His heart is slamming in his chest; his throat is closed up. He manages to keep his voice mostly calm.

“Are you going to shoot me? If not, maybe you should put the gun away.”

Carisi is still looking dumbstruck, but manages to have enough presence of mind to holster the weapon. The Detective seems to realize he’s staring, tries to look at everything except the Elephant in the room. His eyes settle on the ruins of the lamp, which Barba realizes he must have broken it when he swept it off the end table, startled.

Damn. It had been awhile since he broke a lamp like that.

“I, uh, thought you might be in trouble. You didn’t answer, and then something crashed, and I might have overreacted, but with those death threats, I didn’t think that maybe, you had knocked it over yourself-“

“Detective- Carisi.” He opts for trying to sound soothing. He isn’t particularly good at it. It doesn’t work as the detective’s voice starts to pick up in pace.

“-and I definitely didn’t think that I’d see this, I thought maybe somebody had tried to hurt you, and did you hurt yourself? I mean, I can help on some things, but not maybe bird stuff-“

“Carisi, you need to breathe.” Carisi hasn’t seemed to take a breath since he came in and seen Barba’s wings.

“-Not that I think you’re a bird, but holy shit, you have wings. Like honest to god wings. How did we not see that, we are fucking detectives and you have fucking wings-“

“Carisi!” He snaps in his best ADA voice. The Detective is startled into a stunned silence.

He has no idea what to do next. The last person he had inadvertently shown his wings to had tried to blackmail him, not realizing Barba could hide them away given enough time. It had been a very awkward, disturbing moment in time, one that had almost gotten him kicked out of law school. He had very jealously guarded his secret since then. Shit, this was going to be awful, he worked with Carisi, he grudgingly liked Carisi, and now it was going to go all to hell. 

“You have wings.” Carisi whispered, words barely heard. 

“Very observant, Detective. I have eyes too, I assume you noticed them as well.” He snipes back, and then is struck by a sort of hysterical hilarity when Carisi’s eyes jump up to his face instead of his wings, guilty as hell, like a choir boy caught looking. He manages to keep the nervous smile off his face. He doesn’t know if smiling is a suicidal action or not.

“Are you an angel?”

Oh hell no. That would never be where this conversation goes.

“How long have you known me? Have I given you any indication that holiness is inherent to my being? If anyone in this building is going to hell-“

“Probably wouldn’t be you, Counselor. They’d have to argue you down there, and everyone knows they wouldn’t get a word in edgewise.” Carisi looks dumbfounded as soon as the comment is out, which is about where Barba is too.

In truth, Barba has to admit he’s probably right.

Barba carefully considers the Detective, pulling in his wings self-consciously. The Detective watches the movement with something rapidly approaching wonder. He isn’t sure what to make of it.

He decides to nip this in the bud. Better to rip it off like a bandage, let the Detective know that he can’t use this.

“I can hide them at will. If you tell anyone about this, you will have no proof.” It isn’t exactly a lie, but the ‘at will’ part is pushing it so hard.

“Yeah, like anybody’d believe me anyway. The Lieutenant would have me committed if I told her you had wings. I’d never work again. What kind of cop goes around telling people that their ADAs have wings?!” That slightly hysterical note is back in the Detective’s voice.

He has no idea what to do. Carisi is panicking and he doesn’t know what to do. This is the worst possible situation.

And Carisi is still talking.

“—guessing the others don’t know, this is kind of a big deal, I mean you’re Rafael Barba, somebody woulda started comparing you to an angel if they knew, you know Fin. Maybe not Liv, though, she woulda played it close to the chest, but Rollins would have told me, she’s terrible about gossip sometimes. And I would have figured out they were keeping a secret about you.”

“I think you are overestimating your detective skills.” He snaps, not really meaning it, but stress makes him a poor conversationalist. It does make Carisi pause and give him a look that said he saw right through the bad-tempered comment. Damn it, when did Carisi stop being so easy to scare off?

“You won’t be able to use this-” He tries again, uncertain that the Detective understands that there is no way to use this against him. He is cut off by Carisi’s sudden frown.

“Use this? What do you mean? Do you-Do you think I’m going to try to blackmail you or something? Holy shit, you do.” The look of outrage that flashes across the Detective’s face causes him to tighten his wings closer, but straighten his shoulders. He’s not going to flinch back.

“Who the hell tried to blackmail you?! I want their names!”

“…What?” He asks, bewildered at the turn in conversation and the vehemence in Carisi’s voice. Carisi fixes him with a searching look. The detective is damnably perceptive.

“You keep saying I can’t use this, that I won’t be able to. Somebody tried to, didn’t they? That’s why you’re acting like this.”

“I may be acting like this because a certain Detective busted down my door.” He fires back out of reflex.

Carisi turns suddenly back to the door, drawing the chain that Barba had neglected to use on the door when Barba had locked it earlier. There is a clenching in his chest as he realizes that the door is locked again and there is now someone in the apartment with him. His wings flatten against his back tightly, a subconscious attempt to protect himself.

He forces himself to think objectively. This is Carisi. Carisi who is so earnest, so kind, still so eager to please. Carisi who is annoying and irritating and unlikely to try and blackmail, because regardless of winged lawyers, seems actually angry that someone tried to blackmail him. Anyone else might have sardonically told him it couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.

This is Carisi he’s locked in his own apartment with, his biggest secret out for the Detective to see. The Detective turns back around, spreading his hands out, palms up.

“No one’s gonna come in here. You’re safe, and I’m not gonna tell anybody, and not just because no one would believe me. I wouldn’t do that.” Carisi stands before him, daring him to argue. 

His wings twitch in response, his surprise most likely evident on his face, if Carisi’s raised eyebrow is any indication.

“Counselor, I wouldn’t do that.” He repeats, and Barba thinks that there probably isn’t anyone quite as honest as Carisi is right now. He allows himself a few more seconds of tense indecisiveness, before letting out a breath and allowing his wings to fractionally lift from his shoulders.

Carisi’s eyes follow the movement again before he catches himself and looks at Barba’s face instead.

“Don’t you know how to call ahead, Detective?” He says irritably.

“I tried to, your phone keep going to voicemail. I drew the short straw to tell you we need you at the precinct-“

“Now?!” His mouth falls open in shock. This was terrible timing.

“Tomorrow morning. You’ll still get your beauty sleep.” Carisi jokes, still hands open and palm up. 

It does not escape him that Carisi is joking with him, pointedly not pressing him about his wings. Trying to keep Barba at ease, because that is very Carisi. 

He decides to throw him a bone.

“In case you didn’t notice Carisi, I don’t need Beauty sleep. I look this good on two hours and six cups of coffee.”

The smile Carisi gives him is blinding and he can feel the muscles in his back relax a bit more.

“Alright. For the record, I didn’t know you even owned sweatpants.”

Oh. Right. He is in his house just in a pair of sweatpants with nothing else but a pair of wings. They start to tighten against his back again. 

Carisi’s eyes widen suddenly and he throws his hands up in surrender. “No! No that’s not a bad thing, you look really good, I just didn’t think I’d ever see you in a pair!”

He’s startled a bit by the outburst, then a little impressed that Carisi has managed to read his body language so quickly. It would be embarrassing if Carisi hadn’t been such a good detective and hadn’t blurted out that he thought Barba looked good.

Barba doesn’t really know what to do in this situation, so retreats to humor.

“I look really good, Detective?”

The way Carisi’s eyes widen comically at his slip-up nearly makes the whole situation worth it. He can’t stop the uplift of the corner of his mouth when he sees it, wings loosening again.

The look of embarrassed relief is an interesting look on Carisi. The detective is visibly trying to get that under control, and he’s very tempted to pick at the Detective, get him to admit something else embarrassing.

Rafael Barba is sometimes not a good person.

“Right, uh….can we talk? About this? I mean, you could kick me out, but…I want to know.”

“Not going to try and ‘protect me’?” He asks, side-eyeing the Detective.

“I figure you’d kick my ass if I said that.”

Barba notices he doesn’t deny it. It’s oddly heartwarming. Anyone else, he might accuse them of ulterior motives.

Carisi wouldn’t do that.

“What do you want to know?” He’s surprised at himself.

“How big are they?”

…What?

“…what?” Barba stared at him. “you…Of all the things you ask, you ask how big they are? Not ‘what are those things’, not ‘why would I hide this’, not ‘what the hell are you’, not any number of other fully relevant questions?”

“This is a relevant question. And those other ones are stupid. They’re obviously wings. It’s kinda obvious why you’d hide them, some people are assholes. Not me, I think they’re great. And of course, ‘the last one is kinda self-explanatory.” Carisi looked at him with a smirk. Barba arches his brow in response.

“You’re a hard-ass ADA.”

He smirks a bit at that. Only Carisi, he thinks.

He has to give in a little. “They stretch across the room.”

“Can I see?”

He shoots Carisi a look that causes the Detective to step back. He’s not ready to show that much of his wings yet, maybe never.

“Alright. Are they all black?” Carisi is trying to hilariously and unsubtly trying to get a look at his back.

“Mostly. What is with you and asking these softball questions?” Barba demands.

Carisi shrugs. “This is the first time I’ve ever questioned somebody about their wings counselor. Give me a break.”

He has to admit the detective is right. This is a unique situation. And Barba is still uneasy, waiting for the other shoe to drop, because even though Carisi wouldn’t do that, this situation was too surreal, to convenient. Someone else that knows his secret and doesn’t want to use it against him? Not in this Universe.

“You are taking this awfully well.” He says carefully, turning a bit away so that Carisi can get a glimpse of his colored feathers. He told himself it was because it looked like Carisi was going to give himself a strained neck, and not because there was a part of him that wanted to show off his wings. That was a dangerous thought.

“Yeah, well, stuff I seen, the fact that you have wings is weird, but it isn’t bad weird, you know? And-holy cow, look at that! That’s really something. Gotta say, I’m not surprised. Figures you’d have classy wings.”

He’s irrationally pleased at the compliment, and he has to be very careful not to preen. “They’re dirty. They need to be cleaned.”

“Nah, they look great.”

Was Carisi trying to compliment him and make him feel better about his wings? The man needed to be stopped.

Later. Perhaps.

“Can I help?” Carisi seems to realize as soon as the words are out that he may have crossed a line.

He side-eyes the detective. “We are most certainly not there yet.”

“Okay, sorry. I…should I go?”

He is seized with a sudden reluctance to see the Detective go. This was the first time anyone had ever looked at him with his wings out and not criticized or threatened him. But it was Carisi. Inviting Carisi in might encourage him to keep coming. 

“…you can stay. Tell me why you came over in the first place.”

Carisi’s smile is blinding.

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

Thank you for reading!


	2. Mourning Birds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few innocent questions from Carisi cause unfortunate memories to resurface in Barba's mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone,
> 
> Thank you all for reading the first chapter. I enjoyed writing it, and I appreciate the views, kudosing, and bookmarks. I hope that you enjoy this chapter, and you continue to read.
> 
> Please feel free to leave comments, as I enjoy hearing from all of you. SVU is not mine.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> \--Splotch

 

“Can you fly?”

 

“Only first-class,” Is the carefully muttered reply as Barba barely paused before moodily flipping another page. “Everything else is an affront to my senses.”

 

“I mean with…you know what I mean.”

 

He suspected. It’s been a few weeks since he’s had to replace his door. Carisi had offered to pay, but had unceremoniously been shot down. It was his apartment, and he’d been looking to get a more reinforced door after the death threats anyway.

 

Carisi had…had been very patient with Barba, to be quite honest. After the first night, the wings weren’t brought up, nothing was said to the squad, and it was deceptively easy to fall back into their routine of barbs and sass.

 

It was actually very relieving, when he managed to separate the ever-present dread of having yet another person know.

 

And here they were, alone at night in his office, well after the sensible people had gone home. Poring over cases, preparing for court.

 

And apparently talking about his wings, safely tucked away god knows where when he put them away. He tries not to think about it. It’s bad enough that he knows he’s a freak, thinking about the extent of it will only upset him.

 

“Not that I know of.” There were a few times when he tried, always on a dark night in an abandoned construction site, but the last had ended disastrously and his feathers took so long to grow back. He had been very young, and the experience had been particularly traumatic.

 

“That’s a shame. I could see you flying to deliver justice.”

 

He side-eyes the detective hard. Carisi just grins at him, obviously exhausted but eyes twinkling .

 

“I don’t need to fly to deliver justice. I do just fine walking.”

 

“Well yeah, but where’s the fun in that?”

 

He shakes his head and tries to refocus his attention on the file, but apparently, Carisi isn’t finished.

 

“Does your Mom have wings? And your Dad?”

 

And that’s a hardball question, even if Carisi doesn’t realize.

 

He hesitates for a moment, then strives for nonchalance as he answers, “My father. Mother doesn’t have any.”

 

“That must have been awesome. Did he teach you how to hide them? Could he fly?”

 

There was a sudden turn of acid in his stomach, and he tried not to show it. “I’m not sure if he could fly. He did teach me to hide them.”

 

Because if there was anything his father taught him, it was that he should be ashamed of who he was. In every aspect of his being. He distinctly remembered the fights that happened when he was younger if his father ever saw them out, when he wasn’t experienced enough to keep them hidden all the time.

 

He still remembers being grabbed by the wing, and how it hurt.

 

“Counselor?” Sonny is focused on his face, concern written on his features.

 

“Sorry, lost in thought.”

 

“Bad thoughts?” Sonny pressed gently.

 

“Not relevant. Do you have the correspondence from the nanny over there?” His curt reply brooked no argument.

 

The file is handed over without comment, and he tries to push away those memories and the odd phantom ache of injured wing joints. It all happened so very long ago, and he hadn’t been hurt like that in years.

 

He feels a slight twinge of guilt for shutting down Carisi, but while their relationship seemed to be growing in starts and stops, he just wanted that part of the conversation to end. And never resurface.

 

“Anyone else in your family?” Apparently Carisi had other plans.

 

“I don’t have siblings and family members popping up out of every cabinet and closet. I only had them. And my Abuelita. And before you ask, she didn’t have any either.” And if anyone deserved wings, it would have been his grandmother.

 

Though the fact that she always told him she prayed for him because of it still hurt.

 

“What about you? Any of your family have secret appendages? Tails? Are you truly the overgrown puppy everyone believes you to be?” Barba quickly redirects, trying to corral the conversation to something else, anything else but his family issues.

 

“Nah, none of that. Well, I don’t know, gotta few family members in Italy, and I don’t know about them, stranger things, I suppose. And who believes I’m an overgrown puppy?”

 

He side-eyes the man across the table from him. Carisi is trying, and failing, to keep a smile out of his eyes.

 

“Everyone, Carisi. Literally everyone.”

 

“Sonny.” The Detective chuckles, then launches into a long discussion about his family, taking them away from questions about his wings and family. It takes them into the next hour as he is regaled with happy stories of the numerous members of the Carisi clan.

 

It’s nice.

 

And a little painful.

 

But mostly nice.

 

*^^*^*^*^**^^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

 

_He climbs up the crane, just thinking that fi he could get enough altitude, he could glide to the ground, like those sparrows that he sees from the window every day. He could spread his own wings and fly like they do, away._

_He kept climbing, dogged determination in his veins._

_He’s suddenly at the top, gazing down at the ground. He should be afraid, but he knows that if he jumps now, he can make it. He can fly._

_He can._

_So he spreads his wings, out as far as they can go. The wind ruffles his feathers and it feels right._

_He jumps._

_For a beautiful moment, he felt weightless. But then the air and sky tilted nightmarishly and he began to plummet, wingbeats swinging back toward the crane hook and suddenly it’s all just pain, wing caught in the curve of the metal._

_And he’s caught, and he’ll never get loose, and the sky is hauntingly above and the ground so terrifyingly below. Trapped, and he’ll never get loose until someone sees him or his wings are torn off—_

He bolts upright. He’s sweating, his hair damp. He tries to orient himself. He’s in his bed in his curtain drawn apartment. He is not nine years old, climbing construction equipment. He is not suicidally trying to fly off thirty foot cranes with partially lowered hooks that yank his feathers out.

 

But he still feels that terror. That feel of fear as he tried to get himself free, to either plummet to his death or have that moment of triumph.

 

Triumph that never came. He did hit the ground. He broke his arm. His mother had fussed over him when he had told her he had been injured slipping on the pavement on the way home from school. No one had noticed his arm had been broken for at least twelve hours prior.

 

Or perhaps they did.

 

It was probably dumb luck he didn’t break his wing. Or it healed anyway.

 

It didn’t matter. He never tried to fly again.

 

He doesn’t want to go back to sleep. And it’s never too early to start working.

 

The clock displaying 3 am is a strong argument, but he ignores it and gets out of bed.

 

There won’t be any more sleep tonight anyway.

 

*^*^^*^^^*^*^^*^*^**^*^

 

The first time Carisi touches his wing, he doesn’t take it well.

 

Of course, he can’t blame Carisi, even if the thought crossed his mind. The detective had come over to finish paperwork and go over the next case. The defendant was a real bitch, the victim was shaky, and the witnesses were lacking in integrity. It was going to be a tough case.

 

He had allowed the wings out because he needed the stress relief, and he had been ranting animatedly about one of the witnesses while pacing the room. He had been making a particularly brilliant deduction when he lost track of his wing in his excitement and it extended out with an outstretched arm.

 

His right wing was stopped from swatting the detective in the face when Carisi threw up a hand and caught the wingtip.

 

He is very lucky that Carisi doesn’t hold him tight, because he yanks his wing hard as if it has been burned. It hits a nearby doorframe.

 

Perhaps unlucky. The pain shoots up his wing and he draws it in fast, cursing. He nurses it for a second, carefully feeling where the wing had impacted the doorframe.

 

“Shi-what do you need? Can I help? Barba, I am so, so, sorry. I didn’t think. I just reacted. Did I hurt you? Are you okay? I’m so—“

 

“Yes, yes, it’s fine. I’m fine.” The wing appears to be fine. Now he’s just embarrassed. He considers kicking out Carisi, to cover his embarrassment, but this wasn’t his fault.

 

He would feel stupidly guilty if kicked the other man out now.

 

Carisi is hovering, hands outstretched just out of reach.

 

“I’m fine.” He says, still keeping his wings in tight.

 

“I’m so sorry.” Carisi looks like someone kicked him. “I just-I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s fine Carisi-“

 

“Sonny.”

 

“…Carisi. I was just startled.” It’s mostly true. He had been startled.

 

Carisi does not look convinced. He looks like he’s figuring something out. He’s a good detective, and it doesn’t take a good detective to make some obvious intuitive leaps about what just happened.

 

Barba is struck with a desire to hide in his wings and to hide them away at the same time.

 

Ridiculous.

 

“…Someone hurt you. By grabbing your wings.” Carisi said quietly.

 

He wants to crawl under something.

 

“And I grabbed your wing. Shit, I’m so sorry.” Carisi looks distraught. “You know…you know that I would never hurt you like that, right?”

 

“Carisi…stop it, alright? You didn’t hurt me, you can stop saying you’re sorry.” He wants to crawl under several somethings. “I’m fine.”

 

Carisi’s hands go down. He doesn’t look convinced.

 

The silence draws on for what feels like hours. Carisi takes a breath.

 

“My father was not a pleasant person.” He blurts out suddenly, then is horrified by the admission. Carisi looks surprised as well.

 

“Barba, you don’t have to-“

 

“Shut-up Carisi, because I will never talk about this again.” Rafael takes a breath. “My father didn’t like to acknowledge he was different, and he certainly didn’t like to be reminded that he fathered something that definitely was. He didn’t like that I couldn’t hide them like he could, and he threatened…threatened things. When I couldn’t hide them, I was punished. I learned to hide them quickly.”

 

“Because you have wings?!” Carisi looked horrified.

 

“Because he wasn’t a pleasant person. He’s dead now, it doesn’t matter.”

 

“But it does.” Carisi’s voice is so soft. “It does matter. He never should have done that.”

 

There was an ugly thump in his chest. He tried not to show any emotion, instead grabbing up a file and trying to reorder his thoughts. The wings stay very close.

 

The silence stretches on for a while, before Carisi takes in a breath. He sounds shaky. “You hungry, Counselor?”

 

It’s such a deviation from the conversation he has trouble following. He just side-eyes the Detective.

 

“We’ve been at this for a few hours. You want Italian? I’m a great cook.”

 

“I doubt that.” He scoffs.

 

“Ask the squad.”

 

“I have no faith in their culinary tastes.”

 

“Just…let me?” The joking atmosphere is gone as quickly as it came. The detective’s eyes are pleading.

 

“…Why?” He’s baffled by Carisi. He’s always a bit baffled by Carisi.

 

Carisi looks like he’s teetering on the precipice of saying something and not sure if he should take the risk. It’s an interesting look on him.

 

The detective shrugs. “I’m hungry. And I like to cook for people.”

 

Half truth. There’s something more, and he’s not sure what it is.

 

He wants to push, but he’s a little afraid. More than a little.

 

Afraid of what Carisi will say.

 

Afraid that if he pushes, Carisi will leave. He’s ruined now, now that he has someone that knows his secret and just allows him to be.

 

Afraid that somehow by changing anything, it will all go horribly wrong.

 

He glances at the clock on the wall. It has been over seven hours since he’s eaten anything.

“Wow me with your culinary skill, Detective.”

 

Carisi beams at him, and then invades his kitchen.

 

He hopes he made the right choice.

 

*^*^*^^*^*^*^*^*^^*^**^*^*^*^*

 

Thank you for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all,
> 
> Sorry for the delay in writing, RL is always dogging my steps. I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Reviews are greatly appreciated. Flames ae looked upon with general bemusement.
> 
> I hope you all have a great New Year!
> 
> \--Splotch

Carisi walks into the apartment, dreading what he’ll see. 

Barba hasn’t stopped letting him come over. The DA hasn’t forbidden him from visiting outside of work hours, outside of court cases.

In truth, he lo-really likes talking to the DA. The man’s prickly demeanor and sharp tongue tended to drive people away, but Barba was smart, and viscously funny. He was learning an incredible amount from the man, not just about law, but about other DA’s, and how their insecurities and biases could be turned into advantages.

He wanted to learn more. He wanted to learn about Barba too. But all of the things he learned about Barba, the deep things, were negative. Carisi wanted to hear about good things.

But he probably had screwed that up pretty badly. He shouldn’t have reached up to protect his face. It probably wouldn’t have hurt, but instincts had made him react, made him grab on to those shimmering black feathers.

And there was the root of the dread.

Would Barba be fully dressed, no wings, just suits worn like armor? That was awful. It would mean that the other man still hadn’t forgiven him for the slip. He hadn’t meant to grab onto them, hadn’t meant for Barba to hurt himself in his haste to get away. The memory still churned his stomach, made him hate himself, even though logically he couldn’t have known. 

Or would those wings be out, betraying Barba’s moods with every lift and ruffle. In the beginning, he could hardly keep his eyes off them. Barba usually only allowed people to see what he wanted to see, smirks and cocky sneers, but the wings pressed close when he felt insecure, lifted off his shoulders and stayed loose when he was relaxed. 

And extending in excitement, showing more of that colorful sunburst around his shoulder blades. And the Feathers! They were strong, but there was a softness in the edges, and he thinks that maybe that would be a rather apt description of Barba in a way. 

He feels awful and guilty about how much he wants to see them again. Because he wants to see them because they’re amazing. Real wings! On a human!

Because they make Barba seems so much more approachable. Like he was seeing the DA the way he was supposed to be.

Because only Barba could make a suit armor and look somehow vulnerable with sweeping black wings. It really should be the other way around.

Because he can see and interpret Barba’s moods so much easier with them. He wanted to see what they were like when the counselor really relaxed.

And because Barba seems to need it so badly. He’ so careful with them, like he expects them to be harmed, keeping them guarded and close to his body.

And then there was a moment when they swept out, and it went horribly wrong.

So, he dreads the moment when he walks into the apartment and see the other man. Will he see Barba in armor, still unwilling to forgive after three whole weeks? Or will he see the wings out, and feel so guilty about wanting to see something Barba guards so closely and continues to keep private?

He steps into the living room where Barba is usually found, papers and files covering the coffee table that is pressed right up against the sofa.

And there, relief blooms in his chest. Closely followed by guilt.

But less than he expected.

*^^**^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^**^*^*^*^

 

“I saw a blackbird in Central Park. It had colors like yours. Red-winged Blackbirds.”

“You’ve solved the mystery. I’m part Blackbird.” Barba snarks, flipping open a file and taking another sip of coffee. It really is very late at night, and Carisi should be worried about the caffeine his late-night work partner is still ingesting, but if Barba stopped drinking coffee he might contract anemia, so he reasons it safer to let the man go.

Carisi grins. “You might be. Blackbirds are gutsy, smart. I watched them fight off birds twice their size. They’ll stay behind ‘em, chase them off without fighting them head-on. Then they’ll sit on branches, show off their feathers, dare people to mess with them.”

The building is nearly empty, which is probably why Barba smirks. “Are you suggesting I shake my tail feathers at the opposition?”

It’s his bad luck that he took a sip of water just as Barba fired back. The near suggestive comment causes him to choke, cheeks flushing at the unbidden mental image.

Barba, the ass, is hiding a smug smirk behind the lip of his coffee mug. 

Obviously, they’ve just reached another milestone. Carisi mentally ticked it off his mental list in victory as he tried to get his coughing under control. Good-natured teasing from Barba bordering on possibly flirtatious? That was a huge step forward.

“I think I might be cited for contempt.” Barba continues still hiding behind his cup. His eyes are twinkling, daring Carisi to fire back.

May not so bordering. Maybe he was testing the water? Carisi would be the first to admit that he found Barba attractive. Even before the wings. Actually, the wings, though amazing, only made Barba more unique. And Barba had been one-of-a-kind since the beginning.

So…to flirt outright, or play it off and give Barba an out (or save himself the embarrassment of reading the situation wrong)?

“Contempt? Nah. Judge might have to call for a recess though.” He says with a grin. In for a penny, in for a pound.

This time Barba snorted. There was also a very slight tinge to his ears, but it was gone so fast, Carisi didn’t have the time to examine it.

The teasing faded in lieu of getting the work done so they could both go home, but there was a change now between them.

Sonny Carisi got the distinct feeling that even though they moved slowly, there was the potential for something more between them as they bent their heads over the files in the nearly abandoned building.

*^^**^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

He orders off the menu, half listening to his mother rattle off the newest gossip from their (her) old friends from the neighborhood. Their monthly get togethers were mostly his mother catching him up on the gossip he would not have any access to after being exiled from the old neighborhood. His mother had not fully forgiven him for that, he thinks, but he knows he did the right thing.

But his mind is on other things, and he finds his mind wandering back to Carisi and the conversation they’d had over two weeks ago.

“Mama, do you like blackbirds?” It’s such an odd question. He doesn’t know why he interrupted her to ask it. 

It’s obvious she doesn’t know either, based on the look she fixes him with.  
“What is this about birds?”

“Blackbirds.”

“What about them?”

He sighs. “Do you like them?”

“You know how I feel about the city birds. Give me songbirds any day. Blackbirds and pigeons, they are so noisy! And messy.” She looks at him. “Why are you asking me this?”

“I…I noticed that I have some similarities to the red winged ones.” He says carefully.

His mother subtly and quickly looks around, but there is no one else in the private section of this rather expensive restaurant. “What? Are you developing a taste for sitting on ledges?”

“You know what I am talking about, Mama.” He says with a huff. They are quiet as a waitress drops off their drinks and hurries away.

“We cannot talk about that here. I don’t know why you even bring those things up. We are going to stop talking about birds.” Her tone brooked no argument, but there was something ugly that twisted in him.

“No one can hear us here, can you at least acknowledge them?” His voice was unexpectedly cold. He was surprised at himself. 

“Don’t make a scene, Rafi.”

The ugly thing twisted harder, and he felt a tightness in his chest. 

He blamed Carisi. If Carisi hadn’t…hadn’t been Carisi, this would all be alright.

No. Not it wouldn’t be. But he would still be able to fool himself that it could be, that it was good to ignore the wings in the room.

He wanted her to talk to him, to tell him she saw them, saw him, even if…even if she didn’t tell him it was alright.

She loved him. He knew that. 

He just wished that he knew that she loved all of him.

The food came while she made small talk and filled the silence. His participation wasn’t necessary.

The first few bites tasted like dried paper. He stopped eating after that, opting to move food on his plate. 

After awhile his mother huffed. “Rafi, you are not eating and you have barely spoken. What’s wrong, difficult case?”

An out. She wanted him to take it. If he did, they would return to the status quo. 

“No case, Mama.”

“So this is about earlier. I told you long ago, we don’t talk about that. Your father didn’t want us to speak of it, God Rest his Soul.”

He doubted that God truly wanted him, but his faith had been a tenuous relationship anyway. He halfway suspected that ‘and the Devil take Him’ would have been the appropriate response. But his mother always got so upset when he made those kind of comments about his father.

“He’s gone, Mama. Can we please talk about the elephant in the room?”

“No. Your father would not have wanted it.”

“My father or you?” He snaps suddenly.

“Rafi! I raised you better than that.” She looks at him, aghast.

The ugly twisting became unbearably tight. He is struck with the irrational thought that if this goes any farther, he’ll break inside. 

He needs to leave. If he breaks, he’ll never put himself back together. Everyone will see.

“Of course Mama. You did raise me not to be rude. But I doubt I can do that today. We will talk again soon, Mama, I love you. I have already taken care of the bill.”

She is still looking at him, aghast and surprised as he quickly gets up, throws a more than ample tip on the table for food he didn’t eat, and walks away.

He forces himself to not look back, because he doesn’t want to see the disappointment on her face.


	4. Sad calls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a very close continuation of the end of last chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all,
> 
> Hope you enjoy this chapter. It is a it sad, but I hope you enjoy reading it. Comments are always welcome.
> 
> And because I believe in symmetry, eventually the whump! will be Carisi's.
> 
> \--Splotch

*^*^*^*^*^*^**^*^*^

Barba is not drunk.

He’s obviously headed there, if the was he’s putting away the expensive bourbon is any indication. But Carisi has seen enough drunks to know the fine line the DA is toeing.

The man is sitting on his couch, brooding and barely answering Carisi as the detective tries to bring him out of whatever foul mood has taken the other man. The suit he’s wearing is just slightly rumpled-how long had he been sitting in the semi-darkness?

He finds himself wondering if he got Barba out of the suit if the other man would be more forthcoming about what was upsetting him. That led to an unfortunate image of him taking off Barba’s suit, which had to be ruthlessly suppressed.

“I don’t suppose you’ll tell me what’s eatin’ you, Counselor?”

“Just the usual. I had lunch with my Mother. She’s very difficult.”

He actually expected this to be harder.

“This is actually your fault.”

There it was. Barba wasn’t known for making things easy.

“Because I cook for you? I told you, my cooking is legendary.”

“No. On both counts. And yes on one.” The man glared at him, maybe a bit closer to the line of drunk than Carisi first thought.

“Glad we cleared that up.”

“Why do you cook for me?!” The other man asked accusingly.

“I told you, I like to cook for people.” He sits down on the couch next to Barba, keeping enough space between them for them for comfort.

“Is that it?” The comment was oddly plaintive.

“Maybe.” He says carefully. There’s no real telling how much the lawyer will remember of the conversation, and if he ever gets to that conversation, he wants them both to be lucid enough to remember.

Barba side-eyes him. It’s good to know that may never change.

“I take it you didn’t have a good lunch with your mother.”

“It rarely is. She never forgave me for Alex Muñoz, you know. She won’t say it, that would be impolite. Why am I even talking to you about this?”

“Probably the Bourbon.”

“Don’t blaspheme.”

“Maybe you should keep talking. I mean, I’m a good listener.” He said with a winning smile. 

This just seemed to sink Barba deeper into melancholy.

“You are a good listener. And a good secret-keeper. And a good friend. And I treat you badly, I should be nicer to you. Oh god, it might be the Bourbon.”

He has to stifle a grin at the glare the Barba is ferociously leveling at the glass. Near-drunk Barba is nearly as expressive as Winged Barba. The grin was quickly sobered as he watched the glare turn sad.

“She doesn’t like blackbirds.”

“I…I’m sorry?” He isn’t quite sure what Barba’s mother’s aversion to birds has to do with-oh.

_Oh._

“Just because she doesn’t like blackbirds doesn’t mean she doesn’t like you.” And that sentence? That sentence right there? That was the strangest thing he had ever said to anyone.

“She won’t even talk about it. She acts like they don’t exist. She won’t let me talk about them. She hates them. She keeps saying Father wouldn’t want us to.” Barb’s words come out flat, emotionless. “She doesn’t want to acknowledge them either.”

“…I’m sorry.” There’s so many things he wants to say, because he wants to make Barba feel better. But he doesn’t know Barba’s mother, and telling him she didn’t mean anything by her actions would likely ring hollow. He doesn’t want to give Barba a reason to get angry just yet. Anger could be therapeutic, but Barba just looked like he was starting to shut down, not like he was feeling sorry for himself. 

“Well,” He said after a second, “I don’t think you’re being mean to me.”

Barba just stares at him, apparently not grasping the change in conversation through his alcoholic haze.

“Earlier, you said that you need to be nicer to me. I don’t think you need to be really be nicer, that’s not you. I like you the way you are.” It’s an awkward segue, but it seems to have caught Barba’s attention.

Barba keeps staring at him. “All of me?”

“Of course. And for the record, I happen to lo-like blackbirds. They’re assholes, but they’re pretty awesome.” He searches the other man’s face for anything that signaled the direction this conversation was going to go.

“I want her to say she likes them too.” There’s a quiet note of desperation in his voice.

Carisi suddenly realizes why Barba is taking this so hard, and is kicking himself for not figuring it out sooner. Barba doesn’t have very many family members. And his relationship with his mother was suffering. 

He tries to imagine how it might feel if his mother wouldn’t acknowledge or talk about something that defined him. It felt like a punch to the gut. Hell, even when he’d told his mother he liked men just as much as women, she hadn’t ignored it. Sure, it had taken awhile for her to understand, but she never pretended it didn’t exist.

No wonder Barba was trying to get drunk. 

He’s disturbed by bitter laughter.

“Look at you! You look more upset than I am. How did I come by the supposed good fortune of Dominic Carisi, therapist? Do you initiate therapy sessions for all of your friends with wings?” Barba kept going, his voice razor sharp. “What the hell would you have to be upset about? This doesn’t matter. She’s right. I shouldn’t talk about them. I should-omph!”

He’d replay this moment a bit later and probably laugh if Barba didn’t kill him in the next few minutes. As it is, he holds on firmly and pull an uncoordinated Barba to his side, tucking him under his chin.

If Barba was a little soberer, he’d probably have bloodied Carisi’s nose by now, but the man just sort of stiffens, obviously uncertain what to do. Carisi keeps his arm firmly around him. Mentally willing him to relax.

“What are you doing?” 

“Giving you a hug.”

_“Why?”_

“Because if anybody needs a hug right now, it’s you.” He says emphatically.

“I’m not weak.” He also isn’t moving away, which Carisi counts as a win.

“I know that. Anyone that has met you for five seconds knows that. People who have heard of your reputation but never met you know that. And I know that right now, you need a hug. And to be honest, I kinda need one too, after that.” And it’s true. He’s never been that great at keeping his emotions in check when it comes to his friends.

“Well…if you need one.” Barba mutters as he relaxes just slightly.

It’s quiet then. No need to say anything.

And, if when Barba finally sobers up entirely and pushes off Carisi to get more work done, he leaves a slight dampness on the detective’s collar, neither say anything.

^*^^*^*^**^*^*^*^*^*^**^*^*^*^*^*^*


	5. Shaking tailfeathers, sometimes sadly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carisi is having a rough day. Barba tries to make it better, but ends up bringing a bit more baggage than he intended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter had every intent of being rather sweet after the last chapter. It only made 70% of that quota. 
> 
> Comments are always appreciated.
> 
> I hope you enjoy the chapter! Also, in case it was of any confusion, I lay no claim to Law and Order, SVU.
> 
> Thank you for reading, kudosing, and commenting.
> 
> \--Splotch

He has to take a quick double-take when he opens the door and finds Carisi soaked to the bone in a sour mood outside his door well after nightfall.

They just sort of stare at each other while the detective slowly drips on the floor outside of his apartment. The polite thing to do would be invite Carisi inside, but he has an aversion to wet floors, so he’s considering closing the door.

But Carisi has moved from sour to looking a bit pathetic, and the heart people claim he doesn’t have is miraculously alive and voicing complaints.

“What the hell happened to you?”

“A suspect ran a red light and crashed into a hydrant and wouldn’t get out of the car. Fin and I had to drag him out. The city came afterwards to turn off the water. Fin got to go home. I just got a call that they evacuated my building because of a gas leak and there’s some sort of big hoopla going on downtown and all the hotels above two stars are booked.” There’s an undercurrent of hope under the resigned voice of the detective.

“…How long ago did this happen? Why are you still dripping?”

“…It’s raining outside.”

Was it? He’d been so deep into Vonnegut he hadn’t noticed. Another effect of keeping the windows drawn all the time.

He takes another slow up and down look of the detective in front of his door, and then feel something ticking his chest. It takes him a brief second to realize that he’s laughing.

Carisi is trying to glare at him, but the corners of his mouth curl up and the younger man chuckles too.

“You are having the worst luck today, Carisi. Get in here and try not to drip on the carpet. You can take a shower and warm up, your lips are turning blue.”

The detective happily followed, his long legs keeping up with Barba’s strides. He quickly strips off his jacket and hangs it where Barba directs, and then is ushered to the bathroom.

He leaves the detective to warm up and dry off while he tries to find something for the taller man to change into. Luckily, there’s no shortage of lounge pants in his closets, and he pulls a pair of Blue plaid ones out to give to the detective and a white shirt.

He sneaks into the bathroom briefly to grab the pile of wet clothes, because he knows Carisi will just try to wear them again. He tosses them unceremoniously into the dryer on high, all without managing to take a glance to the shower where he know Carisi is standing under the spray. He respects the detective too much to ogle. 

Instead, he locks the doors, checks the curtains, and changes into a pair of sweatpants. He stretches back, allows them to flow from his shoulders, feathers itching briefly as he feels the wings settle more easily. Then he wanders out into the kitchen. 

Carisi is still in the shower, so he reheats two plates of the previous night’s leftovers, because Carisi can’t cook for two people, he has to cook for two dozen.

He’s dimly aware of the roll of thunder above the building, and wonders when it started. He jabs his fork to snag a bite of food when Carisi walks out of the bathroom, slightly dripping.

In nothing but a towel.

Ah. He’d forgotten to drop off the other clothes next to the shower.

He quickly covers his surprise by popping the forkful of food in his mouth. He’s proud of the fact that he doesn’t immediately yelp at the heat. Carisi doesn’t appear to notice. 

“You wouldn’t happen to know where my clothes are, would you?”

“I burned them. They’re hideous.”

“So…you want me to wander around New York with no clothes?”

“it would be a very interesting police procedure. I’m sure it would gain national attention. Might even work better than the current ones.”

“Lieu would have a fit.” Sonny said with a silly grin, at ease with his bare chest. He seemed to have no issue with it. Barba was having more difficulty.

“That’s just because the department would immediately institute a double standard.”

Carisi snorted in a rather adorable way, and Barba shoved that thought along with the barely formed ones involving Carisi and that damn towel.

“Not that I mind the shower and everything, but I probably should put on some pants. Where, uh, where did they go?”

“Dryer. They were soaked. You’ll have to wait.”

Carisi nodded, then his eyes lit up as he took the plate Barba pushed in his direction. The man was ridiculously easy to please. He needed to be stopped.

Barba waited until he took a big bite, then calmly announced, “Don’t worry, I’ll be getting you into my pants in just a minute.”

Carisi choked hard and tried to clear his throat, wheezing. “What?!”

“In my bedroom,”- He relished the look on Carisi’s face with glee-“I have an extra pair of pants. I’ll go get them.”

He cackled to himself as he heard Carisi muttering curses behind him. The Detective had turned such a fantastic shade of red. 

He steps into the room quickly and retrieves the bundle of clothes. He turns back around, focused on keeping his wings from sweeping anything to the floor when he nearly runs into Carisi, standing at the doorway.

Carisi looks a little different like this, the gel out of his hair, still slightly blue lips and…nearly unclothed. He would be lying if he wasn’t a little affected.

“That wasn’t very nice, Barba.” Carisi still had that silly grin on his face, but there was a little spark of something behind his eyes. Barba felt his nonexistent heart pick up a few paces. 

The light flirting had been happening off and on for a couple weeks. As fun as it was to tease Carisi and make the man change several different shades of red, he’d been slightly reluctant to allow it to go farther. Anyone else he flirted with, he did so knowing they would probably never know all of his secrets. They would be gone soon enough, frustrated by his distant demeanor.

Carisi crashed through his door(literally) and seemed to be walking over his walls (figuratively) ((it was probably those damnably long legs)). 

It was different flirting with Carisi. It could mean more, and that scared him. It also drew him, made him want to be around Carisi when he could barely stand being around anyone else.

That was even scarier. It didn’t stop him though, so he returned the silly grin with a smirk of his own.

“I’ve been told I’m not nice. People are always telling me that.”

“I bet you could be nice. If you wanted to.” The seemingly innocent statement held a devilish entendre. Who knew?

Well, two could play at that game. Carisi wasn’t going to get a pass because he was barely dressed in the doorway. He steps close, stack of clothes between them. He pitches his voice just a bit lower. “I probably could. But where would be the fun in that? I’ve made my career on not being nice.”

If the look on Carisi’s face is anything to go by, he just won a point. The other man flushed a bit hard, but then just grins and leans forward conspiratorially, obviously not out of this game yet.

“I bet you just need someone to teach you how.”

_Holy shit._

“I’m impressed Carisi. I didn’t think you had it in you.” He purrs, his heart thumping a little harder now. There were a lot of possibilities.

That seemed teetering when Carisi broke into giggles and manages out, “Well, you could put it there.”

And there they went.

“You were doing really well up until that point.” He laments, shoving the bundle of clothes into Carisis’s stomach.

Carisi flinches suddenly and he pulls away the clothes to get a better look at what he thought was just heat flushed skin at the Detective’s side. He touches it and Carisi squirms away, hissing through his teeth.

The flirtatious atmosphere was gone as he took a closer look. “Did you get hit, Carisi?”

“…Maybe?”

He fixes the detective with a glare and the man relents.

“He didn’t want to get out of the car, he gave me a lucky crack with a tire iron.”

“Did you get it checked out?”

“Paramedics on scene thought they’d be okay, just a nasty bruise. I’m good, Barba, it’s fine.”

Funny how their usual positions were reversed. He rolls his eyes. “Put on some pants. Eat some food. I’ll get an aspirin.”

“You’re too good to me, Counselor.”

He sniffs and pushes past Carisi, taking in how the Detective still feels cold to the touch.

Later, Carisi walks out of his bedroom fully clothed, which seems a grave miscarriage of justice. Barba didn’t think too hard on why that could be, considering the exchange they had just had at the doorway to his bedroom.

And the detective still looks cold. He pushes a plate, drink, and aspirin towards the detective and returns to eating the food, thankfully cool enough not to burn his tongue.

They chat about Carisi’s day, and Barba’s day off. Not about ten minutes into the conversation does Carisi start to yawn, the day finally catching up to him. 

Well, he obviously can’t kick the detective out now, so he leaves the man to finish his dinner while going to pull spare blankets and a pillow off his bed for the couch. He had debated telling the detective to share his bed, but he didn’t want to broach that subject yet. 

Not yet. 

He makes up the couch in short order, then returns to Carisi.

Carisi looks half-asleep already, giving a yawn and another silly grin. “You shouldn’t have. Sure you don’t want to send me to a hotel?”

“I could send you to a broom closet that could pass for a two star, but you should probably just take the couch.”

There’s a moment when he gets the feeling that Carisi is about to tease him about something, but he instead gets the softball, “Thanks for taking care of me tonight, Barba.”

“It’s a couch. Come on.” He gestures for Carisi to take the couch. It was starting to get late.

There was a moment where Carisi steps and yawns at the same time, suddenly unsteady. Barba shoots a hand out to grab a forearm to steady him. 

The detective is still cold. And the wing is around his shoulders before Barba can form a coherent thought to the contrary.

They both stop, Carisi totally still and wide-eyed, and himself frozen to the spot. The long black wing draped around Carisi like a blanket, keeping him very close.

The terror he feels is so bone deep that he’s rooted to the spot. He doesn’t know what to do. He’s never done this before.

“You alright?” The question is soft, quiet, non-threatening in a way that is entirely Carisi. It cuts through the panic, slicing it and parting it into manageable, functional pieces.

“…Fine.” He manages after a moment. “You’re cold.”

“Oh. Okay. I mean, yeah, I’m cold. This is good though. I like this.” 

He sneaks a quick look up, afraid of what he will see. He is afraid he’ll see Carisi struggling to conceal disgust. What he actually sees is a flushed Carisi struggling to conceal a look of pleased wonder.

He’s not very good at it, he looks ridiculous. He is also keeping his hands down, carefully not touching the long feathers close to his fingers.

Barba feels heart thump hard in his chest, but for once it doesn’t hurt. It’s alright. This is Carisi. Carisi isn’t like that.

“Your feathers are really soft.” Carisi murmurs, as if afraid to shatter the moment.

“I…thank you.” He swallows. His tongue feels a little heavy. The panic he feels in his chest is still there, but held at bay by the steady, still slightly cool form of the man he has somehow tucked in his wing.

“And they’re really warm. And pretty.”

“…Carisi, are you trying to flatter me out of a panic attack?” He manages a passable side-eye.

“…Yes. I uh, actually am. But everything I said is true.” Carisi smiles at him, genuine.

The man needed…didn’t need to be stopped.

A hand carefully disentangles from the wing, careful not to seem to reach out and touch or grab, then cups the side of his face.

Carisi’s hand is warming up. That’s good. Especially now that his thumb traces his cheek.

“Can I give you a kiss?”

Shit!

Wait, it was good, wasn’t it? Kissing led to more pleasurable pursuits, which if their exchange before meant anything, they were both angling toward. 

But the thought of being kissed now made him dizzy. The panic attempted to resurge out of his body. He wasn’t ready for someone to touch his wings and be intimate and –

“Easy, easy. Sorry, I should have…I can leave. I’ll leave.” Carisi tries to step back, careful as ever.

“No!” The wing tightened up fast and they ended up chest to chest. 

_Shit._

“I mean…I don’t-I don’t want…damnit. Don’t go, I’m sorry.” He feels awful. Carisi is going to leave because he can’t leave his emotional baggage at the door. 

A hand lays warm on his forearm, grounding him easily to the moment. 

“There’s nothing you have to be sorry about. I shouldn’t have done that. I got carried away.”

Barba tries not to let the guilt wash over him, tries to redirect it, find something to blame Carisi for to give himself some breathing room.

“It is your fault. ‘Can I give you a kiss’? What are we, in highschool?”

Carisi laughs, a huff of breath across his forehead. He smiles in spite of everything, the panic decreasing to a more manageable quantity.

He expects Carisi to talk, to ask more questions. He deserves answers that Barba probably can’t give. 

Instead, Carisi just leans into his space, leaching warmth from the wings and Barba’s body. It’s comfortable. Safe.

They stay like that awhile, Carisi steadily getting warmer as his panic slowly fades. After awhile, he can hear Carisi yawning. He makes the concentrated effort to lift the wing from around the other man’s shoulders and release him to step away.

“Best blanket ever.” Carisi says, cheerfully sleepy with rumpled hair. He looks uncomfortably like he just woke up rather than just stood with Barba for…god, thirty minutes.

Mortifyingly, he can feel a blush trying to start. Tonight has been a roller-coaster of emotions, and he’s too tired to do much more.

When they part ways for the night, and he escaped to his own room to leave Carisi to pass out on the couch, he feels mostly relieved. And a bit disappointed, but he knows that they had been dangerously pushing the envelope. As much as wanted to be, he didn’t think he was ready yet.

Not yet.

^*^*^*^*^^**^*^*^


	6. Under the feather.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carisi manages to get sick from the rain filled walk home. Barba takes that with his usual amount of grace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all,
> 
> Terribly sorry about not updating. I think there's one more chapter after this. RL has been kicking my buttocks as of late.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who reviewed, kudosed, or just read. I appreciate all of you!
> 
> SVU is not mine, but I enjoy playing with the characters.
> 
> Comments are greatly appreciated,
> 
> \--Splotch

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“You’re diseased.”

“M’not. S’a cold.”

“It’s the flu and you are disgusting.”

“Yer all heart, Barba.”

“I have no heart. Everyone knows that.”

The suffering man on his couch attempts to roll his eyes but then shuts them, obviously too sick to snark. Which is good, not irritating. Carisi is obviously better when he doesn’t try to match Rafael in sarcasm. 

Except he kind of misses it. And he feels bad about how Carisi is feeling. Which is ridiculous, because he didn’t force a grown man to trudge to his apartment in freezing weather while soaking wet then go to work amongst dozens of sick people the next day. Resulting in what Barba can only suspect is Typhus.

Carisi, of course, had denied it because he was stupidly optimistic. 

He was probably going to get sick too. Because the heart he claimed he didn’t have wouldn’t let him kick the detective off his couch and out of his home.

Carisi shifted on the couch again, hilariously cramped because he was far too tall and gangly. Barba considers laughing at him, but it would be low hanging fruit.

And it actually makes him wince, seeing how uncomfortable the Detective is.

He shouldn’t. He’ll regret it. Because he’ll be sore tomorrow because the couch is a terrible place to sleep. 

His sighs loudly, deliberately making a scene to catch the Detective’s attention. “Get up.”

“What?” Carisi looks at him blearily from where he appears to be folding in on himself.

“Get up. You look ridiculous. I’m moving you so I don’t have to look at you.”

“You kicking me out?” Carisi struggled up to his feet.

“I wish. I’m putting you in my room. You can stay on the bed, I’ll take the couch.” Barba spins him to face the right direction, having to steady the other man on the way.

“I can’t do that.” Carisi protests.

“It’s not up to you, interestingly enough. Now move, Detective.”

Carisi only puts up a slight token protest at this, which really shows how sick the man actually is. He manages to direct the Detective back to his room, ushering him through the doorway that had held such promise (before Carisi ruined it with his stupid juvenile jokes). It doesn’t take too much work to get Carisi settled into the bed.

He takes up startlingly little of it. He keeps forgetting that Carisi is so damn lean.

“Achoo!”

And diseased. He’ll have to burn the entire mattress.

But at least Carisi looks marginally more comfortable. 

“You’re my hero, Counselor.” Carisi manages a smile up at him as Barba pulls the covers over him.

“Don’t die on my bed. I don’t want to explain why I didn’t let you die on my couch to Olivia.”

“Love you too, Barba.”

His traitorous heart skips a beat before he realizes that Carisi has drifted off. There’s an NYPD detective passed out in his bed. 

He rolls his eyes and goes back to strip the couch of the diseased coverings, quick to toss them into the wash. Somehow, he has gathered enough sheets and blankets in his bachelor life to make up the couch again.

He supposes he must like Carisi too, after all.

 

^*^**^*^^**^*^*^^**^*^*^*^*^

He’s going to die. Carisi’s fault.

And the detective is being entirely unsympathetic. After he spent all that time bringing the man back from death’s door. The least he could do is show some mercy, but no! The detective practically dragged him from his office and took him home and tortured him with soup.

At least it was palatable soup. He would have locked the detective out of his apartment otherwise. 

He shuffles uncomfortably again as his wings catch on a blanket. It was either too hot or too cold on the couch and his wings ache terribly.

A hand slips over his shoulder to touch his forehead.

“When Olivia asks, I demand you tell her you killed me.”

“I’ll take it under advisement. Lemme guess, you don’t get sick very often.”

“There’s getting sick, and there’s dying.”

A soft chuckle comes from the other man that warms his chest slightly. Obviously, another symptom of the terrible disease.

“You should try to lay down and sleep.”

“What a thought.” He makes a dismal attempt at a side-eye. “I suppose you’ll tuck me in?”

Carisi gave him that bright smile the detective always seemed to have. “Well, that would just be returning the favor, wouldn’t it?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” He mutters. His face felt a little hot. His fever was probably spiking.

A pair of strong hands pulled him up off the couch and somehow, through a miracle of science, he ended up in his room being helped under the covers. 

Carisi must be a saint.

“Glad you think so. You can be one of my miracles-making an ADA actually listen to a detective.”

He makes a rude observation that Carisi laughs at as the blanket is carefully arranged so it doesn’t tangle and aching wing, and he ends up drifting away.

In his fogged mind, he thinks he must love Carisi to put up with him.

Carisi laughs.

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End file.
